laugh was gone.  She had hoped that her sister would accompany her, but in reply to her persuasions, Ella answered that “she didn’t want to work,—­she wasn’t obliged to work,—­and she wouldn’t work!” quoting Rose Lincoln’s “pain in the side, callous on her hand, and cold on her lungs,” as a sufficient reason why every body should henceforth and for ever stay away from Mount Holyoke.

Mrs. Lincoln, who forgot that Rose had complained of a pain in her side long before she ever saw South Hadley, advised Mrs. Campbell, by all means, never to send her daughter to such a place.  “To be sure it may do well enough,” said she, “for a great burly creature like Mary Howard, but your daughter and mine are altogether too delicate and daintily bred to endure it.”

Mrs. Campbell of course consented to this, adding that she had secured the services of a highly accomplished lady as governess for Ella, and proposing that Rose and Jenny, instead of accompanying their mother to the city as usual, should remain with her during the winter, and share Ella’s advantages.  To this proposition, Mrs. Lincoln readily assented, and while Mary, from habitual exercise both indoors and out, was growing more and more healthful and vigorous, Rose Lincoln, who was really delicate, was drooping day by day, and growing paler and paler in the closely heated school-room, where a breath of fresh air rarely found entrance, as the “accomplished governess” could not endure it.  Daily were her pupils lectured upon the necessity of shielding themselves from the winter winds, which were sure “to impart such a rough, blowzy appearance to their complexion.”

Rose profited well by this advice, and hardly any thing could tempt her into the open air, unless it were absolutely necessary.  All day long she half reclined upon a small sofa, which at her request was drawn close to the stove, and even then complaining of being chilly she sometimes sat with her shawl thrown over her shoulders.  Jenny, on the contrary, fanned herself furiously at the farthest corner of the room, frequently managing to open the window slyly, and regale herself with the snow which lay upon the sill.  Often, too, when her lessons were over for the day, she would bound away, and after a walk of a mile or so, would return to the house with her cheeks glowing, and her eyes sparkling like stars.  Burnishing a striking contrast to her pale, sickly sister, who hovered over the stove, shivering if a window were raised, or a door thrown open.

In the course of the winter Mrs. Lincoln came up to visit her daughters, expressing herself much pleased with Rose’s improved looks and manners.  “Her complexion was so pure” she said, “so different from what it was when she came from Mount Holyoke.”

Poor Jenny, who, full of life and spirits came rushing in to see her mother, was cut short in her expression of joy by being called “a perfect bunch of fat!”

“Why, Jenny, what does make you so red and coarse?” said the distressed mother.  “I know you eat too much,” and before Mrs. Lincoln went home, she gave her daughter numerous lectures concerning her diet; but it only made matters worse; and when six weeks after, Mrs. Lincoln came again she found that Jenny had not only gained five pounds, but that hardly one of her dresses would meet!